


Palingenesis

by White_Noise



Category: Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Reincarnation, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Noise/pseuds/White_Noise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Prompt Meme fill</p><p>Hannibal has some old friends over for dinner. In fact, friends so old, they are from another lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my own submitted prompt on the Hannibal Kink meme, despite the amazing fill already being done by someone else. I am serious. It is brilliant. But I couldn't leave the idea alone. I posted this ages ago but finally decided to admit as much today.
> 
> Prompt is as followed:
> 
> King Arthur and his knights were reborn to complete one last great mission. Arthur, who remembers his past life, starts tracking down and 'reminding' his knights, who don't remember, of who they are. He finds each one in their respective lives and slowly bringing them back to themselves. Now he has all his knights but one. Galahad is still missing. 
> 
> But finally the knights have managed to track Galahad down and discovered that he is an FBI specialist called Will Graham. Realising that he is of a difficult mental state, they decide to send in the one knight Galahad always trusted, his lover Tristan, who works to get close under the name of Hannibal Lecter. Slowly, Hannibal/Tristan uses his time with Will to try and bring Galahad back to them.
> 
> Bonus 1: Some of the other knights keep appearing in odd places in the hope of jolting Will's memory and seriously piss Hannibal off.  
> Bonus 2: Tristan is still a cannibal. In their past life, food could be difficult to find and eating a dead human was a good way to survive. The others know but don't think anything of it.  
> Bonus 3: Please someone reference the fact that Galahad is Lancelot's illegitimate son. How does Lancelot feel about Tristan and Galahad, even though in these bodies, he is not technically related?  
> Bonus 4: One of the serial killers of the week is actually one of the knights.

It was dark, an inky darkness surrounding Hannibal’s house as the psychiatrist pulled his car up the driveway. Cutting the engine, the man allowed himself a small sigh as he rolled his shoulders. Normally, Doctor Hannibal Lecter tried to present a neat, sophisticated look, even when in private but it had been a long few days.

Dinner had been particularly disagreeable flighty the night before and the day itself had consisted of a full morning of patience and an afternoon out in the field at Jack Crawford’s insistence to monitor his favorite empath. 

It had been an especially odd crime scene, similar to a historical Witch Burning. The victim had been bound to a thick wooden stake, rope wrapped around his legs, stomach, chest and neck. Small bags of gunpowder had been tied to his shoulders and dry wood and sticks had been piled by his feet before being set alight, leaving the poor man to wither (According to Will, the man had been gagged and was therefore unable to scream for his life) in agony before the gunpowder had finally ignited, ending his life. 

The crime had left Will shaken and Hannibal had been quick to offer the younger man a life home. 

Will had been quiet, watching the sun set from the passenger seat of Hannibal’s car. He had been having nightmares again. Of course, Will hadn’t told Hannibal as much. The man was remarkably secretive when it came to his mental state, even when talking with his psychologist. But Hannibal knew the signs of this. Although Will didn’t know this, Hannibal had over a lifetime to study Will’s habits. He knew when Will wasn’t sleeping in the same way that he knew when Will was lying or angry or hungry. Something’s never changed. 

Arriving at the house in Wolf Trap, Hannibal had quickly guided the younger man inside, much to the joy of Will’s pack, who had gathered around the door to greet the two men. Will’s face had lit up at the sight of his pets. 

After insuring both pack and empath were suitably fed and that Will had everything he required for the night, Hannibal had begun the long drive to his own house through the darkness. 

He was tired.

Still, tired did not mean stupid. 

Even as the engine rumbled to a stop and the lights illuminating the driveway faded into nothing, Hannibal could tell that something was wrong. 

He slipped out of the driver’s seat and closed the door silently, letting the darkness surround him like an old friend. And old friend it was. He had a hunter or a warrior in some shape or form for as long as he could remember. Those instincts didn’t desert him now as he made his way to his front door in silence. 

At the doorway, Hannibal paused, listening carefully. Inside, the wooden floor creaked. It could just be the wooden house groaning in the rapidly cooling air or it could be the sound of someone trying to move silently around an unfamiliar house. Hannibal sniffed the air. Sweat, Leather, Blood and Dirt. All familiar smells. But none of them should have been at Hannibal’s door. Swiftly yet slowly, Hannibal reached up and opened the door, stepping inside and closed it again. A familiar darkness surrounded him. Quickly, Hannibal started to plan. 

A sensible person would now be calling the police or Jack Crawford, be attempting to get out of the house and to safety. But not Hannibal. No, he had been aching for a fight ever since the unsatisfying ending to the battle with Tobias.

From the direction of the dining room, there was a soft sound, like air escaping as someone sat on one of Hannibal’s leather covered chairs. 

The psychologist quickly planned his strategy. He would make his way to the kitchen and his extensive knife block where his vast collection of knives, all honed to a razor sharp edge, waited for him. 

Although Hannibal didn’t need a weapon to win a fight (Tobias had been defeated while Hannibal was unarmed) he still preferred the feel of a blade in his hands. And he also knew the value of having a backup plan. If he couldn’t reach the kitchen, the desk in his study had plenty of scalpels ready and waiting. 

Silently, he took a step towards the kitchen. A second step. A third. 

A hand grabbed his shoulder. Hannibal reacted automatically, lashing out into the darkness, his raised elbow swinging into the dark as the figure ducked out of the way. A hand attempted to grab his wrists. Hannibal lashed out with his foot, feeling the satisfying resistance as his heel sank into someone’s stomach. The figure gave a groan and fell back into the darkness as the psychologist pushed himself upright. 

He was only on his feet for a few moments before he was off his feet again, a second heavy figure crashing into his back and sending him tumbling to the carpeted floor of his own hallway. 

Ignoring the pain as his shoulder hit the ground, Hannibal threw his weight to the side, forcing his attacker off him and onto the floor. Hannibal followed him over, using his own body weight to pin his attacker to the floor. He raised his fist, ready to kill.

“Tristan!” a voice shouted.

Hannibal froze. The hallway lights flickered on, revealing his attacker. He was a youngish man with wild blond hair and blue eyes. 

Gawain.

Slowly, Hannibal lowered his fist and looked around, feeling the old sense of belonging as he noticed more and more of his old comrades. 

Bors, the old bastard maker, was on the ground, clutching at his stomach where Hannibal had kicked him. Dagonet was moving closer, intent on helping his friend. Lancelot was standing at the doorway, one hand resting on the light switch. And Arthur, the leader Hannibal had followed for two lifetimes, was standing behind him, face blank as he looked on at the scene. 

After a few moments of silence, Bors grunted, breaking the tension. He grabbed Dagonat’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, one hand still wrapped around his middle.

“Dammit Tristan! You trying to kill me?” 

Hannibal didn’t bother to look around as he too, gracefully rose to his feet.

“You broke into my house in the middle of the night. Be glad you still have the ability to father children.” He said.

Reaching down, Hannibal grabbed Gawain’s hand and pulled the younger man to his feet. The fight was now forgotten. That was the nature of their camaraderie. 

Seeing that all his men were now on their feet, Arthur stepped around Lancelot to face Hannibal. 

“We are sorry for invading your territory Tristan, I mean….Doctor Lecter.” Arthur nodded his head in admission of his mistake. “But we need to talk.” 

\-----

In the end, Hannibal guided the other men into his kitchen. He had originally thought the dining room but the image of these men in his carefully presented dining room was not one Hannibal wanted in his mind. Also, he suspected Arthur would have issue with the table. 

Instead, the men were milling around the island in the middle of the kitchen as Hannibal pulled out some meat he had set to marinade that morning and heated up his frying pan. 

Arthur and Lancelot both stood at the bench, immersed in their own quiet conversation. Dagonat was circling the room, investigating the exits. Gaiwain was standing next to Hannibal, watching the psychologists movements with silent fascination. Bors was investigating the cupboards. He had already pulled the knives out, humming in satisfaction as he noted their sharp edges. He then moved to Hannibal’s fridge. 

“I see you are still following your old diet Tristan.” The bulky man said, pulling out a freshly sealed bag of lawyer. 

Hannibal shrugged, looking at the pan before him as the meat began to cook. 

“I like to keep my pallet diverse.” He said.

Lancelot gave a small cough and lent forward, resting his elbows on the hard counter top. 

“You are aware that every butcher in the country now sells a wide range of animal meats, right Tristan?” He asked. 

Hannibal tilted the pan to the side, allowing the oil to catch alight and sending the flames towards the other man. Lancelot fell back, trying to avoid the heat.

“It is the only way I can insure my meat is fresh.” Hannibal said, tilting the pan back as the flames died away. “And this way, I can keep up my skills. Unlike many you who are so keen to neglect them.” 

The group muttered their responses. Funnily enough, they didn’t have a problem with Cannibalism. It had been an unfortunate fact of life for all of them at one point or another.  
As long as Hannibal wasn’t planning to eat them, they didn’t really care. 

Although occasionally one of them would comment on Tristan eating Galahad, just to see the youngest member of their group blush at the double meaning. 

Galahad may never have been as pure as the legends said he had been but he had certainly been the innocent on of the group. Even when following Lancelot on some of his less noble ventures or listening to Bors graphic stories, Galahad had shown an air of innocence, Even when he had started his relationship with Tristan, he had still been the little brother of the group. Open for teasing but always protected. It was the same innocence which had been so noticeable in Will Graham. Speaking of which….

It was Gawain who broke the silence.

“How is Galahad?” He asked.

The rest of the group held their breath. This was it. The reason why they had all invaded Hannibal’s house in the middle of the night. Their missing member. Their missing Knight.  
The only sound was the soft click as Hannibal turned the gas off, letting the flames on the stove die.

Turning his back to the waiting group, Hannibal reached into a cupboard and pulled several plates and forks. He set them down and quickly scooped a small helping of his creation onto each. Ignoring the pointed stares, he slid each plate along the counter to rest in front of each of his guests as the Knights pulled chairs up to the counter.

“Tristan?” Arthur finally asked.

Hannibal finally looked up at his leader. Arthur had changed since their first lifetime together. Gone was the prideful Roman beliefs. Gone was the ragged Woad appearance. Anyone looking at him now would think Arthur was a simple man, not a military leader. They would not realise that this man, a semi-successful novelist, was the reborn King of Ancient Briton.

Hannibal glanced around at the rest of the Knights. They too, did not look like their former selves. Bors had hair (Well, he was balding but it was still there) and the undeniable appearance of a common laborer. He even had a new name. George.

Gawain in this life, was a police officer, formally from New York, and lived under the name Matthew. His blond hair although still wild was short, and normally carefully styled. His beard was long gone.

Dagonat was heavily tattooed, a successful security guard by the name of Steve. He still didn’t speak much but it was nice that somethings didn’t change.

Lancelot was a lawyer. Not like the one in Hannibal’s fridge but one specialising in divorce cases. Unlike the rest of them, he had actually been born in the United Kingdom, only travelling to America under Arthur’s suggestion. Like Gawain, his beard was gone but he still had the same dark hair and black eyes which had defined him. He went by the name Leopold. 

Like all these men, Hannibal had gone through the process. The nightmares that were really memories. The strange flashbacks. He had been found by Arthur, the one member of their group who had always remembered and who had convinced him that his dreams were real and that once upon a time, he had been Sir Tristan, a member of King Arthur's famous Knights of the Round Table. 

And he had been reunited with his fellow Knights. 

And now there was only one member missing. 

Galahad had only just been discovered.

Will Graham, FBI profiler and teacher, was their missing member. 

It had been a mixture of luck and careful planning that had led to Hannibal getting close to Will. Gawain (Matthew) had spotted Will while Will have been working a crime scene shortly before the empath retired from the field. 

Although Gawain hadn’t been able to get close to Will, he had quickly reported his discovery to the rest and Arthur had immediately called to recover Galahad. An order which had proved difficult to obey.

Will Graham was mentally unstable and secretive. Those who did know him were protective of him and gaining access to him was difficult. 

In the end, it was only through carefully steering Jack Crawford to Alana Bloom, and then the dumb luck of Bloom mentioning Hannibal, which had gotten them any access to him.

Hannibal, still Arthur’s scout in this lifetime, had immediately accepted Crawford’s deal, glad that he was the one to finally get close enough to Will to start prying Galahad, his Galahad from the man’s mind. 

It had been a long process, but it looked like it was finally starting to bear fruit.

“Will Graham has been having nightmares.” Hannibal said, looking around at the other Knights. “Although he refuses to confide in me the true nature of those nightmares, I have no doubts they are memories.”

“You think he is starting to remember?” Lancelot asked. He was leaning on the counter again, a fork in one hand as he chased the meat around his plate.

“I do. It is only a matter of time before something triggers him and breaks the memories free.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” Bors asked, speaking over a mouthful. Hannibal inwardly winced at the disrespect to his cooking. If Bors was any other man, he would be dead now for showing such rudeness. 

“Bors is right. We should bring him home. As Tristan says, it is only a matter of time before Galahad is ready.” Gawain agreed.

Hannibal shook his head. 

“Unfortunately, I cannot recommend us revealing ourselves just yet. Will Graham has proved to be remarkably resilient and I cannot guarantee such actions would have a positive effect, or only prove to drive Galahad back into Good Will’s mind. Should the latter happen, I theories that Galahad could be permanently lost to us.”

The other Knights all spoke at once, their voices steadily rising in the dim.

“But you said yourself, he is starting to come out!” Gawain accused, staring over at Hannibal. 

“There must be something. We should be able to jolt the memories free.” Bors barked, rising to his feet, his voice rising.

“We should bring him here. Right now. Explain ourselves to him and he will understand.” Lancelot joined in. He too rose to his feet, standing beside Bors.

“Let’s bring the pup home.” Dagonat said.

“ENOUGH!” Arthur shouted.

The room fell silent, every Knight looking to their leader. Arthur looked straight at Hannibal.

“Tristan. You believe Galahad could be lost if we press him?” He asked, looking to the psychologist.

Hannibal nodded.

“That is the most likely outcome.” He replied.

Arthur lent back, chewing at his bottom lip as he looked down at the kitchen counter.

“I have never wanted to see any of you come to harm. If there is a possibility forcing Galahads hand now could result in damage, I will not risk it. Not to Galahad.”

He looked back up at Hannibal.

“Tristan, you have been guiding and protecting him. Continue to do so and whenever possible, try to bring Galahad out without harming Graham.”

Hannibal nodded. It was certainly the most sensible option. 

Arthur turned to the rest of his men.

“We will continue to prepare. We were all brought back because this world needs us again. Merlin has already foreseen a last great battle and we need to be ready. Return to your lives and be ready to be called on.”

Arthur turned to Hannibal again.

“The moment, the very first moment Galahad returns, contact me. We will all need to help him find his feet if he is to be ready in time.”

Hannibal nodded, not voicing his thoughts. Will had faced down Gareth Jacob Hobbs without too much difficulty. And despite neglecting himself, he was very fit and could endure pain. Getting Galahad fighting fit should not be too difficult once the young Knight was fully recovered. 

The other Knights rose to their feet. Quickly, they collected their now empty plates and transferred them to the sink before trudging out of the kitchen and into the hallway. 

Hannibal quickly took his place at the door, giving the correct acknowledgements as each man stepped outside. Lancelot was last, hesitating at the door for a long moment.

“Take care of him, won’t you?” He asked, dark eyes looking at Hannibal.

“Your fatherly care is admirable. But as I have told you before, I will protect young Galahad for as long as he lets me and as long as I am able.” 

Lancelot snorted. 

“Protect? Is that what you called it?” He snorted.

“I saw no harm come to him in our last life. I will not let any harm come to him in this.” ‘Unnecessarily’ he mentally added. Tipping off Gareth Jacob Hobbs and Tobias had been good for Will’s growth and Hannibal didn’t regret pitting them against Will. 

Lancelot nodded again, understanding Hannibal’s meaning and stepped out the door. Hannibal closed it behind him and turned to his study. He had a lot to think about.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I honestly thought this was going to be a one-shot. Then, after discussing it with my girlfriend (And subsequently cosplaying both Hannibal Lecter and Tristan in a re-incarnation themed photo shoot) I decided to add more to the story. I honestly have no idea where I am going with this, or even if I will continue past this chapter but I guess there is always hope.
> 
> And as a note, there is a native species of deer in the UK (Unless Wikipedia lied to me again) so I decided that the Knights would have known all about the creatures.

It was 10:48pm, Will Graham was in Wolf Trap Virginia and he was trying to sleep.

It had been a long few weeks, chasing after the new serial killer, the proclaimed Witch Finder, a religious zealot who had killed five people.

Matthew Norrington had already been kicked out of three parishes (twice for his extreme views and once for punching a priest) when he had decided to take Gods law into his own hands. He had kidnapped and burned alive three people before turning on his own family, hanging his daughter and drowning his wife in a lake.

When he was apprehended, the man had just laughed at the sinners in hell. His laughter had still been ringing in Wills head as the man had been dragged away to spend the first night of the rest of his life behind bars. For him, it was all over.

But it wasn’t over for Jack and the team, who would have to testify in order to have the man convicted.

Still, Will’s part in it was done. For him, it was back to the academy and his students, back to his dogs and his sessions with Doctor Lecter. And hopefully, a peaceful sleep.

His sleep had been particularly patchy recently, a new element added to the deaths and the Stag which already haunted his sleeping mind. 

Although not bad, the dreams had been….odd.

So realistic that Will could almost have fooled himself into thinking they were memories. But he didn’t have memories like this.

The dreams were of blood and death and dirt, yes. All terribly familiar. But the feeling of a weapon in his hands, of heavy armour strapped to his body. Of being surrounded by people hen trusted. And people who trusted him. 

The dreams left him confused and sad and both longing for and dreading the next night and the next dream.

Turning to his side, Will pulled his blanket closer, the soft snores of the dogs helping to calm his mind. Slowly, Will Graham closed his eyes.

\-------

There was a sharp crack of wood as it burned in the fire. Somewhere in the gloom, a horse snorted. Around him, men snored. 

Galahad opened his eyes. In front of him, the fire danced happily, kept fed though out the night by whoever’s turn it was to guard the camp. 

A small gust of wind blew up suddenly, causing the flames to twist into an unusual picture, a twisted shape from fire and shadow. Galahad blinked and raised his head from the soft dirt. The image vanished. 

Across the other side of the camp, two figures stood, talking softly. The handover of information as the new guard took over from the old one. After a few minutes of this, the two figures parted. The new guard turned to do a walk of the camp, checking the perimeter before he settled down to watch the fire.

The second figure turned towards him, carefully stepping over his sleeping comrades. In the faint light, Galahad could just make out the wild dark hair and black eyes of the figure as he made his way over. 

With a sigh, Galahad shifted forward, gripping the edge of the fur he had wrapped around his body for warmth. After a few moments, he threw it off, letting it form a mat behind  
him. He grunted as cold air washed over his body and again when a heavy fur was dropped over him. The figure disappeared from view, stepping around Galahad.

This time, the young Knight didn’t move as the fur was hitched up and the cold figure slid in behind him. A cold arm wrapped around his chest, pulling Galahad backwards.

Galahad couldn’t help but squirm slightly at the discomfort of the cold body pressed up against his back. Behind him, Tristan tightened his grip.

“You should be asleep.” He whispered in Galahads ear, deliberately pressing his cold nose to the nap of the younger man’s neck.

“I would be, if you weren’t so loud.” Galahad replied, trying not to fidget at the cold pressure on his neck. 

He could feel Tristan smirk, the slight scratch of the older man’s beard giving away his amusement. 

Tristan was by far the quietest member of their group, able to take even the most observant lookouts by surprise. Add to that, his natural grace and Tristan was a force to be reckoned with. There was no possible way that Galahad could have been woken by him (Well, by accident anyway)

“What is on your mind Galahad?” The older Knight inquired. He knew that sometimes Galahad had restless nights, nights where he couldn’t help but re-live past battles and past kills, both his own and others. 

Galahad had a gift, the ability to see the death around him like no one else Tristan knew. The young Knight could look at a body and almost jump into the mind of the attacker, see their motivations and their reasons.

It had helped the Knights many times to identify possible attacks, even though it left Galahad shaken and needing the support of his fellow Knights. 

It was Galahads gift from God. But it was also his curse to bare. They all understood that, and it was why Arthur hesitated to ask Galahad to use his gift except in the most dire of circumstances. 

Tristan had no doubt that, had it not been for the understanding and support of the other Knights, Galahad would have succumbed to madness long ago.

Having to look at the aftermath of a Saxons attack and simultaneously live through it was a horror Tristan couldn’t imagine and yet, it was a threat Galahad lived with every day. 

It was the reason why all the Knights were protective of their youngest member. It was the reason why Galahad was desperately counting down the days until their discharge, until the day he no longer had to force himself to look. 

Against his chest, Galahad shrugged. 

“I just feel odd. Like something was watching me.” He said.

Tristan frowned. He had personally done a search of the camp before handing over to Lancelot. He knew that the camp was secure. 

Galahad signed beside him. 

“It’s gone now, whatever it was. Maybe I was just imagining things.” 

“What did you see?” Tristan pressed. 

Galahad turned, pushing away from Tristan so he had enough room to roll over. Galahads blue eyes met Tristan’s black ones, as if somehow Galahad could find the answers in the older Knights gaze.

“I thought it was a deer.” Galahad finally said. “A great, black deer.”

Tristan thought for a moment. Deer were not exactly unknown to the Knights. A good source of fresh meat and the antlers of the male deer or stags could be made into good lightweight weapons. 

He had honestly never really thought about the creatures before. 

“Well.” Tristan finally said. “I should take your mind off it.” 

His hand, now resting on the small of Galahad’s back, started travelling lower, finally resting on Galahad’s bare thigh. He paused.

All the other Knights knew about the relationship between their youngest and their scout. Certainly none of them had any problems with it. But Galahad and Tristan had agreed long ago, the physical aspect of their relationship stayed inside Hadrian’s Wall, where their skills wouldn’t been needed at short notice and where they could have their privacy. The camps were too open, too exposed. 

Galahad gave a small groan of frustration as Tristan stilled his hand. 

Shuffling forward, Tristan pressed his lips to Galahad’s forehead, his hand returning to rest on the other Knight’s hip. 

“We are only a day’s ride from home. I am afraid you will have to be patient until then.” 

Like a small child being denied a treat, Galahad let out a pitiful whimper, the stag no longer on his mind. Tristan’s plan had worked. 

“Either go into the bushes or be quiet!” A voice called from the fire.

Both Galahad and Tristan looked up, Galahad looking over his shoulder. Lancelot was glaring at them from his seat by the fire, the man clearly not happy with having to listen to his two comrades. 

Galahad gave him a devilish smirk. 

“Maybe when we get home, Vanora will finally take pity on you Lancelot.” He called towards the older Knight.

“I heard that, you little bastard!” Bors shouted from the other side of the fire.

“Go to sleep!” This whine came from Gawain, his voice raspy from sleep. 

Galahad grinned and lay back down, this time resting his head on Tristan’s arm. He shuffled closer, until he was pressed up against Tristan, the older man’s arms wrapped protectively around him. Pressing his face against Tristan’s shoulder, Galahad let out a long, slow sigh and closed his eyes.

\-------

Will Graham started, his eyes shooting open. Quickly, he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. After a moment, he relaxed. Bed. Home. Safe.

He was safe, at home, in his bed. 

No sleepwalking, no nightmares, no bodies.

Only a strange dream.

Lying back down on the soft cover, Will thought back on the dream. Or tried to think back. It was all slipping away from him, like a lost thought. The harder he tried to remember, the more it seemed to elude him. Like trying to touch a cloud, it kept out of reach. 

Oh well, it hadn’t been a nightmare, that he was sure of. And he certainly felt well rested, so that was a bonus. 

He looked over at the clock beside his bed. It read 0548.

Almost time to get up and ready for work. 

Claws scratched on the floor. Will looked down. Winston, ever observant of Will, was sitting at the side of the bed, giving his master a doggie look. Will reached down, letting the dog sniff his hand for a moment before patting the creature on his head.

“Hi Winston.” He said as the dogs tail wagged happily.

A few of the other dog’s ears seemed to prick at the sound of their master’s voice. Will sighed and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position on the mattress. Sleep would not come to him again that morning. So he might as well take the opportunity to take the dogs for a walk.

He could plan his classes for the day in his head. And of course, in a few hours he had his session with Doctor Lecter. Maybe this time he would mention the dreams. Maybe Hannibal would be interested in hearing about them after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the scene of a gruesome crime, Will makes a new friend. Or is it an old one?

Lights flashed in the dim room, a gentle reminder of the emergency services waiting just down the stairs.

In the dim room, two men stood, looking down at the body. It had once been a young man, although given the state of the body, it was hard to imagine anything alive had once been there.

The body had been flayed, each small piece of skin removed with expert care.

Looming over the body, Jack Crawford crossed his arms and glanced up, impatient as he waited for his answers. Beside him, Will Graham closed his eyes.

Time slowed and then stopped. Will opened his eyes.

_He was in the hall outside of the room. Around him was the soft glow of the house lights, a welcome difference from the harsh flashes of the police lights._

_“This is not a senseless act. This is business.” Will said aloud._

_In his mind, Will strode towards the door, kicking it in and taking the victim, now alive and whole, by surprise._

_“I take him by surprise. He is unable to stop me as I knock him down. His head hits the floor. He is stunned and unable to rise. He does not yet know that he will never get up.”_

_Will straddles the fallen victim, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back. The specialist reaches into his pocket and pulls out something long and metallic._

_“I insert the screwdriver into his neck, carefully avoiding a fatal injury as I sever the spine. He is paralysed. He will not fight his fate.”_

_The clatter of the screwdriver hitting the ground rang in his ears._

_“I seal the wound. I do not want him to bleed too much. At least, not yet. Not before I can practice my art.”_

_In his hand, Will could feel the phantom weight of the knife._

_“I do not know this man. He has not done anything to me. That does not mean I will not enjoy killing him. This is my design.”_

_The knife was lowered down towards the helpless man._

Will opened his eyes. He was breathing hard, his hands shaking.

“Death by a thousand cuts.” 

Both men turned towards the voice, Will still struggling to regain his breath. Beverly was standing at the door, looking into the room with considerable interest.

“It’s an old Chinese torture. Nasty way to die.” She commented.

Jack turned to Will, raising an eyebrow. Will nodded as the rest of Jack’s team silently entered the room.

“You said the killer didn’t know the victim. Explain!”

Will gritted his teeth and raised his hand towards the body as if the gesture could somehow explain his feelings.

He dropped his hand back to his side.

“There is no emotion here. Normally there is fear or anger or sadness or even lust. This killer was clinical, emotionless. And look at the body. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was trained to do this. This is business to him, not pleasure.”

Jack glanced at the body and then back at Will.

“You think this was a hit?” He asked.

Will shrugged. He knew that, regardless of what he said, the idea was in Jack’s head now and he wouldn’t let it go. The specialist shrugged.

“I guess.” He muttered.

Jack nodded and turned to the rest of the team who were already busy setting up their equipment.

“Dust everything!” He ordered. “If this sicko blinked, I want to know.” 

With that, Jack left the room, no doubt to go and talk to the police. 

Will sighed and stepped away, slowly untangling himself from the scene. 

“You look wrecked.”

Will turned to look at Beverly. The woman was watching him carefully, camera in hand as she prepared to go to work.

He sighed and pulled his glasses off, rubbing his eyes.

“Haven’t been sleeping well.” He muttered. That was true at least. Every night that week, he had been plagued by dreams of battle fields which had left him with far too much to think about and far too little sleep to function.

“Exercise and a glass of milk.” Price called from over his shoulder as he shuffled around the room with a heavy case.

“Oh please! That glass of milk thing is a huge con. I tried it once. Was sick all night.” Zeller replied, looking over his shoulder as he crouched over his own equipment.

“You were doing it wrong.” Price replied as he stepped towards the body. Carefully he put his case down and reached for a packet of gloves.

“I wasn’t! It was projectile, I swear!” 

Beverly wrinkled her nose, her eyes meeting Wills. At least, they would be if Will could look her in the face.

“Maybe you should go outside and get some air.” She suggested, slinging the camera over her shoulder by its strap. “It might be good for you.” 

“You’re not my doctor.” Will replied absentmindedly as he watched the guys start to gently prod at the body.

“Well, where is Doctor Lecter?” Beverly asked, crossing her arms over her chest in the same manner as Jack had.

“I’m not his keeper.” Will muttered. He honestly didn’t understand why everyone kept assuming Hannibal was always with him.

Bev gave him a look, as if she didn’t believe him.

“Well, if he was here, he would tell you to go and get some air.” She said pointedly.

“I know that voice!” Price called from the middle of the room. “That’s Bev’s ‘Don’t mess with me’ voice. You better do what she says.” 

Zeller was nodding in agreement.

Realising he was fighting a losing battle, Will turned and stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him as Bev closed it.

Sighing, Will made his way down the hall to the staircase. The house was a standard two level wooden structure, situated in a quiet neighbourhood, in a quiet city. Which was why, it seemed that the whole community was gathered at the police line outside the house, trying to catch a glimpse of the scene. 

A few of them pointed and muttered to one another as Will stepped out onto the porch. Slipping his glasses back onto his face, Will ducked his head, letting his hair hide his eyes from the crowd. A flash of red caught his eye. 

Freddie Loudes was standing at the very edge of the police line, two officers standing in front of her. By the look of it, she had tried to sneak past the line in the hopes of securing some gossip or rumour to turn into her next article. Based on her body language however, she had been less than successful. Her body twitched with irritation, her face flushed red as the officers continued to block her view. The two officers themselves looked less then comfortable, no doubt well aware of what had happened to the last police officer who had gossiped to the blogger.

Realising he was staring at the scene, Will turned back to look at the crowd, just a quick scan. It wasn’t unheard of for a killer to return to the scene of their crime, to watch their design be uncovered in front of the audience. 

As he had predicted, the crowd had lost interest in his presence, their attention now fixed on some paramedics who were awkwardly trying to wheel a stretcher into the house. Well, almost all the crowd. 

Standing in the middle of the group, right next to the police tape was a man.

He wasn’t looking at the paramedics. He wasn’t watching Freddie battle the two unfortunate officers. No, he was looking straight at Will. 

Surprised, Will looked up at the man’s face. Their eyes met.

The man had dark hair and equally dark eyes. His skin was pale, almost ghostly in the light of day.

Will felt a sharp prang of mixed emotions, of sorrow and longing. It felt like a dream. Familiar and safe, even as it was terrifying.

The man’s eyes seemed to look straight through him, like he could see into Will and out the other side.

The man slowly smiled.

Will suddenly felt very awkward, like he was a stranger in his own skin. 

He shuddered, breaking eyes contact as he jerked his head away. Something cold was under his hands. Will looked down. Somehow, in those few moments of intense staring, Will had unconsciously reached down to grip the wooden railing of the porch. His knuckles were white.

Will stared down at his hands, surprised by his actions. His forearms started to sake with the strain.

“Are you alright?” A voice asked from his side.

Will’s head shot up but this time he managed to keep his eyes down, not wanting to his own insecurities to be seen. A man had appeared at his side, just outside of what Will would consider his personal space. 

From what Will could see, they were about the same height and built. The man had blond hair and somehow Will already knew without looking, blue eyes. He was dressed in the dark blue shirt of the police and had no doubt been patrolling the area before making his way to Will.

Will blinked a few times, taking in the situation before he found his voice.

“I’m fine.” He muttered, forcing his grip on the wood rail to loosen somewhat. 

The blond man lent sideways, resting his hip against the railing as he crossed his arms.

“You’re Will Graham, aren’t you?” He asked. 

Will felt himself tense.

“Sorry. That was rude.” The man added, noticing Will’s reaction. He straightened up again, seemingly watching Will’s reaction. Then, he raised his hand, offering it to Will.

“Matthew.” He said. 

Will looked down at the hand. It remained steady, somehow inviting.

After a few moments, Will decided to respond, hesitantly at first, raising his hand and gripping the officers. Matthew gave it a gentle shake before releasing Will’s hand.

“Soooo…” The blond man said, turning and grabbing the railing in both hands. He lent back, pulling his weight like a child was want to do.  
Will braced for the inevitable. 

When Freddie Loudes had published her smear campaign against him, she had probably never expected it to give Will an almost mythical standing among the police. 

Everyone wanted to meet him, to ask him just how he did it. To see for themselves, the FBIs hired killer. 

“What’s your area like for fishing?” Matthew asked. 

Will’s head shot around in surprise, his eyes meeting Matthews. The blond cop was smiling, his eyes shining with a gentle curiosity. Normally, this was Will’s queue to look away, to maintain distance. But for some reason, he found he couldn’t. Matthew felt safe. Like an old friend Will hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Um.” Will stuttered, trying to regain himself. “Not bad, I guess. Why?” 

Matthew shrugged. 

“I like fishing and hunting. Being outdoors with a few good friends is my thing. I’m planning a holiday soon and was thinking of Virginia might be a good spot to explore. How about you? Do you like being outdoors Will?” 

Will bit his bottom lip. Yes, he did like being outdoors, away from people. Indoors, it was too confined, too crowded. In all honesty, Will’s favorite pastime was heading outside with his dogs and his fishing gear and just being surrounded by the blissful quiet of the wild, miles and miles from where anyone could touch him.

Matthew was smiling and Will realised with a flush of embarrassment, he had said everything out loud. 

“Sounds good man.” Matthew commented. “Sounds really nice.” 

The cop turned to look around, relaxing, his mind seeming to drift away as he thought about something. Will watched his face. The man was miles away, smiling to himself, no doubt reliving some past event.

Without warning, Matthew turned back, his bright blue eyes fixing on Will. 

“It’s really good to see you again little brother.” Matthew said in a voice so low, Will wasn’t certain it had come from him. His lips barely moved. Will blinked, his brow screwing up in confusion.

There was a commotion in front of them. Matthew turned quickly, seeming to recover from whatever had sent him drifting. 

“Hello.” He said, a small smile crossing his face. “What’s happening here?” 

Will turned to follow his gaze. His brow rose.

A police officer was making his way through the crowd, pushing people out of the way. Following closely behind him, in a perfect three piece suit and with his temporary FBI ID clipped to the breast pocket, was Doctor Hannibal Lecter. 

The policeman ducked under the tape holding the crowd and then turned, pushing the barrier up enough for Doctor Lecter to easily slid underneath. 

Will turned, ignoring the frozen cop as he made his way to the stairs and stepped off the veranda. Quickly, the consultant made his way down the small walkway to meet the Doctor. He stopped before the man. 

“Jack didn’t say you were coming.” Was the first thing out of his mouth.

Lecter gave him a small, tight smile.

“Hello Will.” He greeted

Will ducked his head, realising his rudeness.

“Hello Doctor Lecter.” He replied meekly.

“Jack did call. Asked me to come and have a look.” The implied ‘at you’ was not needed. Will knew Hannibal was there for him, not for the victim. The consultant nodded in understanding. 

Doctor Lecter looked straight at Will, carefully studying him. Will seemed fine. Actually a lot better when the Doctor had been expecting. Given what Hannibal had already heard of this case, he had been expecting to find Will in a state but the younger man seemed perfectly fine. Or what passed for fine when Will Graham was involved. 

“Shall we?” Hannibal said, gesturing towards the house. He wanted to see what had made Uncle Jack so angry this time. 

Will nodded and turned, following Hannibal’s invite to lead the Doctor into the house. His back turned to the older man, the profiler missed the moment Hannibal froze, his dark eyes meeting the bright blued ones of the man on the porch. 

For half a second, neither man moved, eyeing each other carefully. Then, slowly, Gawain nodded and turned away, returning to his duties.

Hannibal released the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding and continued after Will towards the house.

He had already spotting Lancelot hiding in the crowd, no doubt looking for glimpses of Galahad and now Gawain was actively pursuing Will? 

If the others had decided to spy on the Empath, Hannibal would make sure Arthur heard about it.

**Author's Note:**

> And now to go and hide again.
> 
> And to explain the title. Palingenesis = Greek Word. Palin means Again, Genesis means Birth. Put together it means Born Again. I was trying to be clever.


End file.
